Don't Roll a One!

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Blake's eyebrow arcs upward, but he directs his attention to Marsh as he recites what he remembers. "Shell splintered. Not entirely sure how, but my impression was the equipment was pretty delicate. The splinter lodged between a couple contacts. I just removed it."

"All I know is she started getting antsy and trigger-happy, and then Blake did something to the...regulator, I guess?" Mason shrugged. "The thing on the side of her head, and she was better. Guess it was getting wonky. If you tell us what to look out for and when to call tech support, we're good." He looks over to Blake.

"...different question, then," Marsh says. "Somebody tampered with the regulator." His look sweeps past Tim towards Blake. "I reckon you got a peek behind the curtain, so to speak. Your team lead isn't just a run-of-the-mill agent with a funny name. She's one-of-a-kind, the scariest goddamn thing on two legs that I know of. But she's also a goddamn mess held together by several million dollars worth of duct tape and shoestring." He turns to Mason. "You have concerns. Understandable. I have answers and I'm willing to part with a couple. But first I have to know what happened to her. We can't help her if we don't know what went wrong."

Out of the van, up the airplane's rear ramp - and through a heavy black curtain that blocks out the sight into the cargo bay. However, there's not much room for cargo in here. Aside from a suspiciously empty "garage" area with tie-downs to fit a single car, every other cubic inch has been put to use for equipment stowage and partitions, with the shielded SKIF visible at the very front through the narrow middle passage that connects everything. You turn in weapons and electronics to a man with steely blue eyes and an operator beard, then brush past weapons storage and the galley to end up in the infirmary. Lurking inside is a young woman in a lab coat, which reads "Dr. Lamm".

"Oh my," Lamm says, taking Operations by the hand and beckoning her to sit down on a fold-out stretcher. Throughout the whole drive, Operations has been quiet, but this cinches it: with the codephrase active, she seems to be capable of nothing more than being led and ordered around. "Oh!" she says as she sees Laith hobble over. "There's a - the chair over there folds out."
"Thanks, I remember," Laith says bluntly.
"Give her a quick once-over," Marsh says. "If everything checks out, take her to the SCIF."
"Uh-huh," Lamm says, giving Marsh the quickest of nods, but her attention is already on Operations. "Oh dear," she adds after the barest glance. "She needs a new regulator."
"Yes, please take care of that," Marsh says. "Everybody else, let's give Dr. Lamm some space to work."
"I'll have to take her up on her offer," Laith says, folding out a jumpseat and plopping himself down. He stares straight up at Marsh. "My leg's really bothering me."
"...suit yourself, Agent Sy," Marsh comments, but lets it go and wordlessly leads you back up the hallway.

You pass a combined shower/toilet/decon cabin, brig, a corner table for maybe four people to sit at a time, ladder up to the upper deck and its sleeping quarters, more tool storage, then finally the single largest segment, the actual SCIF. You wouldn't call it luxurious - it's barely bigger than the one in the back of the Wolfhound - but it'll have to do. In fact, you get the distinct impression that the Nomad is as much "it'll have to do" as could possibly be crammed into the airplane. Marsh waits for you to pile in.

"Ain't this a fine mess," Marsh says. "Hoi Yan, can you get on the drives?"
"Yes, Director," Hoi Yan pipes up and heads off to a terminal at the side of the SCIF. She detaches a section of the wall and folds it out into a chair, which clicks into hardpoints on the floor. Then she swings the terminal out sideways and unfolds a keyboard and touchpad from beneath.
"Well," Marsh says to you, "let's get right to it. You acted in direct violation of orders from all the way up. That's not a good look. You got us results, though. You pissed in a lot of cheerios along the way, but you got us results." He sighs. "I didn't fly all the way out here to shout at anyone. You have final action authority and worrying about politics is my paygrade. The last thing I need is apparatchiki who tuck their tails and run at the first sign of a hard call. But it's way past time we had a little chat about where your mission is headed. You didn't want to bring up Fractal with the badge lady, fair enough, but I can't cover your asses if I don't know what's happening out here. So, anybody wanna give me the uncut version? Where are we at?"

"By all means, let's share," Marsh says. He nods to Luc. "Mr. LaGarde, if you'd like to start..."
"Yes," Luc says. "Ve facts of ve case are simple. I am a man of many hats. You know I have worked with ve Chinese, then I worked with you, now I must wear ve hat of Europol. I know a few people."
"It's like some fucked up hostage trade," Laith comments. "They get you to debrief about Amsterdam and Hamburg, we get to go."
"In a sense," Luc says. He puffs on the cigarette that seems to have magically appeared in his hands. "Between us girls, I have used ve last few days to observe Section 9. Vere are...irregularities, as I'm sure you have observed."

He nods to Blake, apparently in the know about the tracker that was hastily wired into the car Blake jacked from Xavier.

"Somebody has to investigate - and watch your backs," Luc continues. He drags on the cigarette again. "You will have my call when I know more."
"Thank you for your help," Marsh says.
"And vank you for ve expense account," Luc says. "Au revoir." He starts to walk out, then stops next to Tim. "Oh, and Timothée - bonne chance, mon pauvre ami."

As Luc makes his exit, Tim's look slides over to Marsh.

"Let's continue this conversation on the plane," Marsh says.
"Finally," Laith says, then rises up, grabs his cane and starts for the Wolfhound.
"Ahem, Agent Sy..." Marsh says, getting Laith to stop and look around. "Not that plane. Hoi Yan, can you get the van?"

---

You are piled unceremoniously into a Ford Transit and ride in silence over the airfield, past the various private hangars and then on to taxiing corridor Lima that takes you way out to the end of Runway 5/23. As you come up toward it, you can already see the C-17 heavy transport aircraft sitting on the corridor, and as you approach closer, you spot a group of operators holding an armed perimeter around it. It's an uncomfortable compromise between "Only airport big enough to accomodate you around here" and "We don't want you near anything civilian", but there it is.

"Wolfhound's being sanitized as we speak," Marsh finally comments. "We'll do our briefing on the Nomad."
"...you brought the field hospital?" Laith comments.
"Damn right I did," Marsh says. "Something's wrong with my team leader in the field. I'm not going to wait until she falls apart. She needs an exam post-haste. And when we've got that sorted," he looks at Tim in particular, "we're going to talk about where you're going."

Luis nods, his eyes following the gun pieces, and think about what they must need for portable power supplies. "I think we just proved what you can do when your friends are kind enough to have everything you might need for a party already on site. All right, so we go through, localize the Gates and kegs, figure out if we can neutralize it, and if we can't we mark it and get out...fast."

"Then we should go through," Zaef states. "We have as good a cover as we can for this, and we can learn much. And there won't be a lack of solutions to certain problems on the other side," he muses, eyes wandering past the Manta half.